Page 18 of The Darkness Within

“Thank you, Aguilar,” Riggs says. “Let’s open up the meeting, starting with McCormick. Tell us what happened.”

“I don’t know, man. I thought things were going fine. She said I wasn’t putting her first, and that our relationship wasn’t a priority.”

Riggs keeps the tone of his voice neutral. “And did you? Did you make her a priority?”

“Not really,” he sighs. “I mean, I didn’t always answer her calls, but she wanted to get together like every night! Ain’t nobody got time for that bullshit. She didn’t understand that I wanted to go ride with the guys, or that I was working on a knitting project. She expected me to take her out every night, and when we stayed home, all she wanted to do was talk.”

The pills dull my filter, making it hard not to laugh when it’s inappropriate. My snicker draws many eyes, and then everyone’s laughing.

“I take it she didn’t want to talk about knitting and motorcycles?” Riggs asks.

“We really didn’t have that much in common,” he admits, dragging his stubby fingers through his short hair.

“You fed her the boiled hotdogs, didn’t you,” demands the guy seated beside him.

“Dude, you’ve got to stop riding my ass about the hotdogs. They’re not as bad as you make them out to be.”

Riggs interrupts the man’s exaggerated retching. “I’m glad that you put yourself out there and gave it a shot, but maybe it isn’t fair to your partner if you’re not one hundred percent ready to give your all.”

The man, McCormick, looks stunned. “My partner? Shit, my partner is right here beside me.” The men fist bump.

“That explains so much,” says the man at the end of the row with a mohawk.

“I think you have your answer, McCormick. Stiles? How was your week?”

“Well, I’m still employed. So I’ve got that going for me.” He high-fives McCormick.

Riggs intervenes again, like a preschool teacher trying to make a bunch of toddlers cooperate. “That must have either taken great improvement and dedication on your part, or luck.”

“Or luck.” The man with the mohawk snickers.

“Keep up the good work,” Riggs praises. “Anything else you want to comment on?”

“No, I’m feeling pretty good this week. I’ll take my win and pass the baton. Jax?”

It’s finally the man with the modified mohawk’s turn to speak. “Still struggling with my anger, but I’m doing better than I was last week. I guess it comes and goes. Some days are better than others, some days are worse. I’m alright today. Not great, but I’m alright. I guess I feel grateful I have a place to come to, and people that I can trust with my feelings.”

Riggs nods. “It’s something that a lot of people don’t have. I’m glad you realize it’s a gift. Hang in there. As for me, I’m starting to settle into my old routine now that I’m back from deployment. It always takes me a while to shift things in my head. I still feel a bit distracted and distant, closed off from my surroundings. Like a part of me is still over there with my patient. I can’t get him off my mind for some reason. Anyway, I’m adjusting, and I think it would do me good to join you all for lunch today after the meeting.”

The crowd claps for him, and one thing he said resonates through the hazy fog in my head. He asked for help. I know how much courage it takes to ask for help. For some reason, I always feel like it would make me weak, but I don’t think Riggs is weak at all. He just sounds brave and strong to me.

Why do I hold myself to a different standard than I do others?

Why am I always at the bottom of the stick?

I wish I could give myself the same leniency I give others, but I always feel like I’m playing by a different set of rules.

The man who handed me the phone tree is next.

“I had a tough week. Suffered a blow to my peace of mind. The doc said I’ve lost more of my hearing, which sucks because I’ve only got one good ear that works. I’m worried I’ll continue to lose my hearing until I’ve got nothing left, and I’m living in a silent world. That scares the shit out of me. I know there’s worse things I could lose, obviously, but haven’t I fucking given enough? Haven’t I lost enough?”

The man seated between us grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together in a show of strength and support. “You’re never gonna live in a silent world, Reaper. You’ll always be able to hear my voice. Always.”

Brandt loses his struggle with his tears, and they slide down his scruffy cheeks. “I know. I could never forget the sound of your voice. Whatever, we’ll figure it out,” he sniffles, swiping at his eyes and nose. “I’ll learn sign language if I have to. Or start wearing that damn hearing aid the doctor tried to give me. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It may not be the end of the world,” Riggs agrees, “but it’s the end of something you’re holding onto with both hands that you don’t want to let go of, and I completely understand that. Of course, you’re scared, and it’s okay to be angry, but no matter what happens, you’re never going to live in a silent world where you are alone, not as long as we’re all still living in it with you.”

“Fuck, Riggs, cut that shit out,” he says, swiping his eyes again. Even with my feelings numbed, their exchange tightens my chest.

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